


Insert Cheesy Elvis Lyric Here

by keepitdreamin



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitdreamin/pseuds/keepitdreamin
Summary: After Matt and Foggy get married “platonically” for the married student housing benefits, Foggy’d assumed there were no more secrets between them. After all, he’s told Matt all of his and Matt’s told him about his father and even taken him to Fogwell’s so… why don’t they have their rings yet?Inspired by a writing-prompts-s post:All newlyweds are given a rock which breaks apart to reveal their wedding rings once the couple knows every secret about each other. Most couples typically get their rings on their wedding night. Five years later, you still don’t have them. What could be holding you back from getting them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Big Bang and I really enjoyed it! I hope you all do too!
> 
> Cursinginenochian made a wonderful fanmix for this featuring the _Best_ cheesy romantic Elvis songs! Listen to it [on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/user/madisonj0204/playlist/2CT23HqRLzOTtfLOzaDx99) (The cover and tracklist are also included in chapter 7!)
> 
> Thanks to Amaria for the beta! 
> 
> And shoutout to Kyla for reading the first drafts and encouraging me even as I fail to actually finish any of the other stuff I've promised for her. And for sticking around when all I do is send her Thomas Sanders vines at 2 am. You're a saint babe.
> 
> (If you want, there's further explanation about the wedding rocks/rings in the end notes)

Foggy’s mind, soul, his whole _being_ is feeling very bright and _very_ fuzzy. The last bar the group had stumbled into had served shots that looked like a motherfucking _rainbow_ that sparkled in the light and fizzled in Foggy’s mouth. Matt had looked hilarious when he’d tried one, like he hadn’t expected the fizz, but he’d chased every last drop with his tongue. That had caught Foggy’s attention even through his drunken fog—heh _fog_ —and he had laughed to keep from drooling and grabbed some more shots for both of them. Things had gotten progressively fuzzier after that and the next thing he knows, he and Matt are outside, leaning against each other and swaying down the street.

“Where’s—where’s Jeremy?” Foggy asks after looking around them and not finding his cousin or the rest of the bachelor party. “Oh no. Did we lose them?” That would actually be quite a feat, Foggy thinks, losing a dozen really loud, _really_ drunk guys.

Matt tilts his head, like he’s trying to remember or even just listening for the rest of them. “Rooms,” he says triumphantly. “Going back to the rooms.”

“Rooms,” Foggy repeats a little nonsensically. They make it about halfway down the block before he nudges Matt clumsily, almost sending them both stumbling into a bench. “I bet you miss those silk sheets of yours,” he says, following the trail of his fuzzy thoughts to a… well he won’t say _natural_ but a conclusion nonetheless.

Matt hums in wistful acknowledgement. “I miss our room,” he admits. Then a pause and he asks quietly, “What’re we going to do next year?”

“Ugh,” Foggy groans, pressing his face against Matt’s shoulder. “It’s only January. I’ve been trying not to think about it. The dorms suck ass, but apartments near campus are _so_ expensive.”

“They are,” Matt agrees forlornly. “Even with both of us, it’s still a lot.”

“Aw Matty,” Foggy reaches up and clumsily pats Matt on the cheek. “You want to keep living with me? I didn’t know you cared!” Matt snorts and shoves Foggy’s shoulder so they both end up stumbling a few steps to the side, almost running into a group of girls leaving another bar.

“You know what’s nice?” Foggy says a moment later, when they’ve apologized to the ladies and continued on their way. “What—what, Monica and David, got. You know that,” he waves his hand trying to grab the word he’s looking for from thin air. “You know.”

Matt nods in agreement. “Married student housing. _That’s_ a good deal.”

“That’s the life,” Foggy sighs. “You get your own apartment and you don’t have to worry that it’s a shit-hole or deal with a crappy landlord. Plus, they have the shuttle so you don’t have to spend a fortune to get anywhere.” Foggy sighs again, imagining what a wonderful life that would be, which is why he doesn’t notice Matt’s silence till they make it to the next red crosswalk.

“Let’s do it,” Matt says abruptly.

Foggy blinks up at Matt’s earnest face. “Do what?”

“Get married. We’re in _Vegas_ , there’s like 12 fast service chapels on this street alone. And then we can get better housing and stick together. Come on Foggy.” Matt’s looking at him with his determined, pleading face (the one he uses when he really, _really_ wants something but doesn’t expect Foggy to go along with it). “Let’s get married.”

And because Foggy’s never been able to say no to that face (or Matt in general) and because Foggy’s a little—okay, maybe a lot—in love with him, Foggy tugs on Matt’s arm. “Alright Matty, let’s get hitched!”

 

They get married by an honest to god Elvis impersonator which is something Matt would _never_ have allowed sober. He’s _far_ too Catholic for anything less than a church wedding. Foggy has _maybe_ spent what Marci considers an “unhealthy” amount of time imagining what Matt’s wedding would be like, how Matt would look in a tux standing at the altar of an old-school church, with the light coming through a gorgeous stained glass window and making him a standing piece of art. Foggy never let himself actually complete the rest of the fantasy—that he’d be the one standing beside Matt at the altar in any capacity other than best man—but he still likes to picture it sometimes. Matt would be _beautiful_ , lit up like a goddamn angel, and so, so happy (that’s all Foggy wants really, for Matt to be happy).

This is… nothing like that fantasy, but also, somehow, impossibly better. The chapel is white and covered in what Foggy suspects are artificial flowers since Matt’s not sneezing his head off. The Elvis impersonator is actually pretty good, or maybe they’re just _really_ drunk, because he’s hitting all of his notes. Matt’s tucked close under Foggy’s arm and mumbling his own really bad Elvis impersonation in Foggy’s hair.

Neither of them can keep a straight face through the vow exchange; even drunk they’re able to make up some pretty stellar Elvis references (“I promise to love you even if you start wearing latex jumpsuits” “If you die on the toilet, I promise to move you and make it look more dignified”). But even giggling and drunk, Foggy’s vows are completely serious and genuine as he talks about how much he loves and adores Matt. During Matt’s turn, he speaks quietly about love and commitment and happy sounds, and his face goes all soft, with that little smile that Foggy’s only seen when he’s really truly happy about something—the smile that makes Foggy’s stomach flutter and his own smile grow till it’s almost painful.

Finally, the Elvis minister declares them husband and husband, and Foggy is kind of surprised that Matt is really kissing him, even if they _are_ drunk. The moment before, he’d raised his hands to Foggy’s face, cradling his chin and one thumb at the corner of his mouth, looking intense and focused before moving forward purposefully like this _means_ something to him. Foggy kisses back because it _does_ mean something to him. He’s up for being platonically married to his best friend, but if he lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that this is real, well, that’s his business.

 

* * *

 

Foggy wakes up in the morning, sprawled out sideways over a bed that he’s only 60% sure is his own, with a groan and the very real pain of something stabbing him in the cheek. “Guh wha?” he mumbles. He rolls and reaches up to grab the thing, whatever it is, and then squints at it in the dim light from the window. “The fuck...” he says because that is a _wedding rock_ . Jesus. Fucking. _Christ_ . He squeezes his eyes shut and wracks his brain because fuck fuck fuck he _really_ doesn’t want to be living out the plot of some bachelor party movie. Fuck, what if he’d killed a hooker???

He’s on the verge of a panic attack when it comes rushing back to him. Justin’s bachelor party and the bad decisions and married student housing and Foggy not being able to say no to Matt, especially not when it’s something he really, really wants, and the Elvis priest crooning, _“A hunk, a hunk of burning love,”_ and Matt laughing pressed close to Foggy’s shoulder.

Foggy sits up, ignores the head rush, and looks around for Matt. He finds him sprawled out on the floor next to the couch (did he fall off or did he just never actually sit?), and he calls hoarsely, “Matt! Hey Matt! Wake up!” Matt moans in pain and rolls onto his back so Foggy knows he’s alive at least.

“What the actual, _literal_ , fuck, Foggy,” Matt groans a moment later, squeezing his eyes shut in a grimace. “Did we do _car bombs_?”

Foggy considers this and then starts to nod, but that actually hurts his head more so he just says, “Yes. And also I think something called Tiki Slammers? Oh, and shots that were really pretty pastel colored, and I _think_ pure alcohol.”

Matt groans louder. “Jesus Christ.”

Even though it hurts to, Foggy manages to crow, “Blasphemy Murdock! Three Hail Mary’s!” Matt raises his arm so Foggy can see and flips him off. Foggy cheerfully raises his own hand to return it when he realizes he’s holding the rock.

“Oh, heads up.” He lobs it gently over, so it lands on Matt’s stomach. Matt lets out a soft _oof_ before he picks it up and turns it over in his hand.

Foggy’s not sure how anyone actually verbally conveys an ellipsis but Matt just did and it’s _impressive_. “Is this… Foggy is this a wedding rock?”

“Yup,” Foggy pops the p which he knows Matt hates and yeah, there’s the wince. Matt turns the rock over a few more times.

“Foggy?” Matt asks quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Is this _our_ wedding rock?”

Foggy cocks his head. “Do you remember anything from last night?” Matt shakes his head and shrugs, still fiddling with the rock. Foggy’s heart kind of sinks because, from what he remembers, Matt had kissed him so sweetly and earnestly and sincerely and… well it was platonic, he’s _sure_ but… well…

He takes a breath that also serves to steady his head a bit, shoves his Feelings down and says cheerfully, “Yeah buddy. Your brilliant idea to get that sweet, sweet married student housing.”

“Huh.” Matt seems to think this over for a moment, tossing the rock up and catching it in a gentle repetitive motion. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.” He lifts himself into a sitting position (even hungover, he doesn’t have to use his hands, just bends those incredible fucking ab muscles and goes up and Foggy feels a familiar mixture of jealousy and want) and tilts his head to Foggy. His hair flops indelicately into his eyes and Foggy can’t help but grin because it’s so endearing. “I… uh well, I’m up for it if you are.”

Foggy takes a second to really think. Can he do this? Be married to the person he loves but without any of the actual romance? Then he looks back at Matt, blushing and blinking owlishly in his general direction and looking sleepily disoriented and decides _yeah_ , he can, for his best friend. “I’m all in buddy. No wait!” Foggy gasps with pure delight. “ _Husband_. I’m all in, dear husband of mine.” Matt leans his head back against the couch and laughs, and Foggy falls back onto his bed, feeling pretty great despite the raging hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy’s a little… confused. He kind of thought their rock would have opened immediately. It’s just… they’re already best friends. Matt knows everything about Foggy, and Foggy knows everything about Matt. It’d taken a long time, but Foggy’s even been to _Fogwell’s_. He’s watched Matt box. They don’t keep secrets, well, except for the one, but Foggy had told the truth at their ceremony: he loves Matt. Maybe it only works if Matt remembers? But… Foggy still says it a lot, and he means it every time. He says he loves Matt at least a few times a day now, and Matt always gives him the same soft happy smile, so he keeps doing it.

So Foggy looks at the stone (a very pretty obsidian with streaks of red shot through it that catch the light and remind Foggy of Matt’s glasses), and he ponders other secrets they might be keeping, and he keeps telling Matt he loves him and keeps getting that smile back.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yeah, thanks dad,” Foggy says with his phone shoved between his ear and shoulder as he juggles his package and stack of mail (both his and Matt’s because he’s the best roommate and the _best_ husband) to get to his ID. “This week has been hell; I’m really looking forward to eating these and I know Matt will appreciate them too… Yeah, he’s doing fine, just stressed you know…”

 

“Hey Matty!” Foggy greets cheerfully as he shoves his way into their room. Matt looks up from his textbook and grins absently in greeting. “I got your mail, _and_ dad sent his world-famous latkes to get us through Perry’s exam!”

Matt groans appreciatively. “God, I love your dad.”

Foggy hums in agreement as he drops the box on his desk and starts sorting through their stack of envelopes. Mostly some flyers and things from club, a few things from the bank, and… a protected DVD envelope?

“Oh, huh,” he says as he starts opening it and Matt tilts his head to him.

“What do you have?” Foggy shrugs and pulls out the DVD case.

He stares at it for a second and then bursts into laughter. “Oh. My. Fucking. _God,”_ he manages between gasping laughs, actually bent over and clutching his stomach.

“What is it?” Matt asks curiously, picking up the case from where Foggy had dropped it on the desk.

Foggy pulls himself up and takes a few breaths, till he’s no longer gasping, but still giggling intermittently. “It’s our fucking wedding video.”

Matt’s mouth drops open in a little ‘oh’ and he looks down at the DVD he’s holding. Matt still doesn’t fully remember the wedding, he’s got bits and pieces, he remembers pretty clearly the Elvis impersonations, but he’s missing a lot.

“Come on Matty, let’s pop this in. Relive the magic.” Foggy drags over his laptop and they sit on Matt’s bed, the laptop on Foggy’s legs. “Okay, so we’re opening up on this nice fancy white title page, there’s these little swirls are growing around the edges and… surprise our names in cursive! Franklin Percival Nelson and Matthew Michael Murdock. Oh god, why did we give our full names? … okay okay, we’re fading out and… here’s the first shot of the altar…”

Foggy keeps a steady stream of description, of their actions, faces, of the ridiculousness of the Elvis minister. He goes quiet when they’re speaking though, let’s their own words carry slightly tinny through the speakers. Foggy glances through his side eyes at Matt. Matt’s face is doing a complicated combination of his soft happy face and confusion? Anxiety? Embarrassment? it’s kind of difficult to decipher.

Matt and Foggy both blush after Elvis says, “You may kiss the husband, baby.”

“Um, so… now we’re about to kiss...”

Matt tilts his head and smirks. “Yeah, no duh.” A second passes before he asks softly, “What was it like?”

“For you? Fantastic!” Foggy jokes and Matt rolls his eye but smiles. “It was pretty great for me to,” Foggy says truthfully, watching as they kiss on screen.

Matt bites his lip (the same lip that Foggy’s seeing red and laughing on screen). “Describe it?”

“Well…” the video’s already over, now it’s playing some end credits and a small good luck message which was a nice touch and Foggy could laugh and joke and move on but… “we were standing pretty close already, supporting each other because we were pretty drunk—honestly, I can barely believe they let us get married—so then you, uh, reached up, I guess to find my face and aim properly? And kind of petted my cheeks for a second. I let my hand settle on your shoulders, and then we both moved in for the kiss. It was nice,” he shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Matt’s. “A little messy because god we were drunk but nice. We’re both exceptional kissers.” Matt laughs and bumps Foggy’s shoulder and then they stop talking about kisses.

 

The next day, Matt comes back from an adviser meeting with a coffee just for Foggy (extra whip, no cinnamon, _three_ shots of espresso). He places it on Foggy's desk, right beside his head where he'd dramatically dropped it with a groan a minute ago, only two pages into his paper and already exhausted. "Here, I brought some nourishment," Matt says with a grin when Foggy painstakingly turns his head and pries open his eyes (all narrated for Matt's benefits of course).

Foggy groans in appreciation as he sits and cradles the cup close to his chest and inhales deeply. "Matty Matty Matthew have I told you how much I love you today?" Foggy says in reverence before he takes a sip.

Foggy hasn't closed his eyes so he gets a full glimpse of Matt's expression before he laughs at Foggy and goes to his own desk. It's a complicated look that Foggy's seen before, when he gets too affectionate or when he surprises Matt in some little way: part happy smile and part... confusion maybe? Or maybe something more... longing? But that wouldn't make sense. Foggy's never been able to fully identify what that second emotion is because it only lasts a second before Matt schools his face back to normal.

Later, Foggy lays in bed listening to Matt breathe quietly and evenly on the other side of the room and staring at the rock on his desk. He falls asleep thinking that it’s got to open someday... Right?

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy kind of… forgot to tell his parents about the wedding? He’s regretting that omission now as he’s cringing away from the onslaught of decorative pillows his mom is throwing at him.

“Franklin _Percival_ Nelson!” Foggy winces; he’s been getting the full name treatment for the past five minutes. “How could you not tell me you got married!”

“I’m sorry mama,” Foggy says, genuinely contrite. “But it’s not like it’s _real.”_

His mom stops, one pillow held in the air and tilts her head. “What do you mean, not real?”

Foggy shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Well… I mean, it was mostly for the married student housing for next year? We’re not really _together_ together. Well, _legally_ , we are, but really we’re just roommates,” he mutters the last part at his toes.

“Oh honey.” She drops her pillow and steps around the cushions on the floor to wrap Foggy up into a hug. Foggy leans into it and lets his head fall to her shoulder as she rubs his back. He’s surrounded by her perfume, warm and comforting and he’s feeling just like when she used to comfort him as a kid.

“You want it to be real, don’t you?” she asks gently. Foggy lets out a shaky breath and nods against her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, “yeah I do.”

They hold each other like that for a while until Foggy pulls back and his mom steps away, but keeping her hands on his upper arms, rubbing them lightly. “Well, anyway, you tell that husband of yours, now that he’s officially part of the clan, he has to participate in the ornament exchange this year.” Foggy laughs and promises to make sure Matt actually makes his and doesn’t buy it at the store.


	3. Chapter 3

The married students apartments are actually pretty damn nice. Most of them are set up for multiple occupancy suites so that two couples may room together in two bedrooms, but Matt makes a sad face at the housing lady and mumbles about how he has difficulty living with too many people because things get moved without him knowing, and Foggy pats his shoulder consolingly and tries not to laugh as she laps it up. So they get their own apartment. Sure, it’s small and one bedroom, but it’s got heat _and_ air conditioning, a working kitchen, a living room with a fairly nice view, super convenient, and, for the same price off campus, they would’ve gotten a shit-hole. Of course, the one bedroom comes with one queen sized bed, but they surreptitiously trade it for two twins, and it’s pretty much just like their double freshman year.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, once the year starts, it gets around pretty quickly that he and Matt are married. The way Foggy hears it, money even changes hands more than a few times and several of their classmates have come into quite a bit of dough. Marci tells him this matter-of-factly from where she’s fanning herself with her own winnings—Foggy can’t tell all of the bill denominations but it’s got to be at least $500; apparently, there was some kind of ‘in Vegas’ double down bonus—while they drink wine in her bed. It’s their start of a new semester tradition: drink a lot of wine and talk about things (at one point this included some sexy times, but that door closed a while ago).

“It’s only for the housing and totally platonic,” Foggy finally admits when they’ve officially drained two bottles between them. And once that bit is out, it’s easy to tell the whole story. Well, _most_ of the story, anyway. There’s no need for Marci to know about Matt’s Elvis impersonation or their rockthat’s still just a rock (people seem to think they’re just being professional by not wearing their rings; everybody knows how close they are, and nobody’s first guess is that the rock hasn't broken).

Marci arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and kicks her foot against Foggy’s shin. “The only person you’re fooling with that, Foggy-bear, is _yourself_ … and possibly Murdock.” She shakes her head and sighs wearily. “I swear, watching the two of you… sometimes it’s just painful.”

Foggy pours himself another big glass of wine and sighs into it. “You have _no idea.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Brett shows up to their apartment about three weeks into the school year, holding a cake box and looking vaguely accusatory and disgruntled. “Mom said congratulations and to let you know you and your _husband_ are invited to Sunday dinner.”

Somehow, Foggy gets the impression that Brett’s _maybe_ a little pissed he had to learn about the marriage from his mom and not, you know, his friend. Foggy tries for his best apologetic face but Brett just snorts and shoves the cake box at his chest.

Foggy peeks inside and grins widely. “Sweet! Hey! Matt!” he calls back to the bedroom. A moment later Matt pokes his head out of the door, hair rumpled like he’d been napping, and makes a curious noise. “Bess sent your favorite! Lemon cake!” Matt grins and gives a thumbs-up before disappearing back into the bedroom.

Foggy hums happily and steals a swipe of icing, and a second later Matt yells, “Save some icing for me!”

Foggy laughs and turns back to Brett who just rolls his eyes (but he’s also fighting back a smile so Foggy thinks he’s already halfway to forgiven). “You guys are weird. Perfect for each other.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I love you, you know,” Matt mumbles, head cradled in the crook of Foggy’s neck, nose pressed awkwardly against his skin.

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says absently, rubbing Matt’s shoulder comfortingly, ignoring the girl across the aisle who was failing at being subtle staring at them, and keeping his eyes peeled for their stop.

 

Last week, Matt had come back from a “date” with Elektra with bloody knuckles and red rimmed eyes and not saying much more than, “It’s over.” He had hardly left his bed after that, and Foggy had done his best to take care of him without pressuring him to talk about it: making him food, ordering his favorite take out, getting him out of bed long enough to just take a shower, got his notes and dealt with their professors. It didn’t take much convincing for them to believe Matt was fairly seriously ill. Foggy didn’t even have to see himself to know he looked wrecked, perfectly the part of the worried spouse.

Foggy had gotten them both through the week and then he’d come home on Friday to an empty apartment. He’d tried calling Matt but there’d been no answer, and so he sat and worried and fumed for a bit (the anger was actually a nice break from the pure worry about Matt for the last week).

Matt had finally called him around three a.m. Well, _technically_ a kind of tipsy sorority girl had called him from Matt’s phone since Matt was wasted and the buttons were beyond his grasp. Foggy had made his way across campus as quickly as he could to the already winding down party. A girl downstairs had been able to direct him to the upstairs bedroom where he arrived just in time to see Matt leaning over the toilet and throwing up.

It was rare that Matt ever actually drank enough to be sick, but Foggy figured if any time was appropriate, it was after having your heart ripped out by hurricane Elektra. Foggy was still kind of hurt that Matt had disappeared without telling him to an _undergrad_ party, and for a split second, he even considered meanly just letting Matt deal with this on his own, but then Matt had groaned, pitiful and miserable, and Foggy got to work.

He found an unused solo cup downstairs which he filled with water and brought back to Matt, who had collapsed on the floor against the bathtub, one arm positioned ready to push himself back up to the toilet if needed, though he looked so weak, Foggy doubted he would be able to. Instead, Foggy had settled down and helped prop him up to a more convenient position against Foggy’s side, holding the cup up to his lips. “Here Matty, take a sip and rinse out your mouth.” Matt had obeyed, rinsing and spitting a few times.

Foggy had gently quizzed him on what all he’d been drinking, how many times he’d thrown up before Foggy got there (just the once to Foggy’s relief), if he thought there might have been anything in any of his drinks (Matt had laughed at that, like it was some kind of inside joke, before saying no, he was sure there wasn’t). When Foggy was confident Matt wasn’t going to die anytime soon, he refilled the cup and then settled back beside Matt (who cuddled close, insinuated himself firmly in Foggy’s arm and practically half in his lap), instructing him to take small, slow sips.

They had waited in the bathroom for a while longer, to make sure Matt wouldn’t be sick again, until a guy stumbled in needing to use it. They had managed to catch the shuttle when they left, where Matt had returned to his previous position, curled into Foggy’s side with Foggy’s arm around his shoulders.

 

“I really, _really_ do,” Matt insists earnestly, like he doubts Foggy understands what he means. “I love you Foggy. You’re always the best for me. You’re _home_.”

Foggy tightens his grip on Matt’s shoulder. “I love you too buddy,” he reassures. It’s easy to imagine this is Matt’s big confession… but it isn’t. It’s just drunken affection and appreciation for his best friend, and Foggy needs to keep his head on straight. Matt hums happily, placated by Foggy’s reply, and nuzzles deeper against Foggy’s neck.

Foggy rubs Matt’s shoulder again and starts gently combing through his hair. He starts humming because there’s not much else to do and, from other drunken escapades, he knows Matt likes feeling the vibrations. He’s a little surprised when Matt starts quietly singing along but he doesn’t stop. “She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried, and it was all for me.”

As they reach their stop, Foggy tilts his head down to look at Matt, bites his lip, then thinks ‘ _what the hell’_ and leans forward a bit to press a soft kiss to Matt’s hair (he doubts Matt would have noticed even sober). “Come on Matty,” he whispers gently as he stands, pulling Matt up beside him. “It’s time to go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is… they’re graduating soon. They _could_ totally get divorced now that they no longer have to con for the housing, and everything would be fine. But… Foggy keeps waiting for Matt to say something, and Matt keeps _not_ saying anything, and so far it looks like they’re going to be staying married.

“You don’t think the IRS is going to get onto us for, you know, not living together?” Foggy asks curiously at the end of their final year, when they’re looking for their separate apartments for next year.

Matt scratches the side of his nose and looks distant in thought for a moment. “I mean, tax law wasn’t really our thing, but I think as long as they’re getting paid they won’t care. And if we get audited, we can always argue our way through it.” He grins and nudges Foggy’s shoulder. “That’s why I married you, you know, for the debating skills.” Foggy laughs and nudges Matt back.

 

They’re packing and dividing their stuff for the first time in forever. In previous years, they’ve just stored their stuff together in whatever method made it all fit because they were just going to be sharing a room the next year anyway, right? But now that they’re actually getting different apartments, they’ve got to unpack boxes from years ago.

They’ve finally made it through the “comfy sweater debate” (“I bought it” “yeah, well, possession is 9/10 of the law” “you _stole_ it” “objection you gave it to me” “yeah but with the implied contract of a loan, that it would one day be returned” “ah ha! _Implied_. You can’t argue intent this long after the fact, and with no written or verbal contract means...” “ _Fine_ you can have the sweater but I get the Snoopy socks” “… Deal.”), when Foggy picks up their wedding rock.

“So… what should we do with this? Joint custody? Trade it off every other week? You get Easter; I get Halloween?” Foggy asks, tossing it between his hands and admiring the way the light catches in the red. Matt’s quiet and when Foggy looks up, he’s turned to him, head tilted and Foggy could swear he was seeing him.

He shakes himself out of that thought though as Matt says quietly, “You should take it. You appreciate the colors more than I can.” Matt looks sad but also determined, like even if Foggy tries to let Matt take it, he’d just slip it back into Foggy’s stuff.

Foggy, knowing better than to argue with Matt when he looks like that, slips the stone into his pocket. “Thanks. Matty I’ve been looking for a nice paperweight.” That makes Matt laugh and they go back to sorting through their stuff.

Every once in awhile, Foggy will bring out the stone and fiddle with it, and he _swears_ Matt must know somehow because he gets the same kind of look no matter what they’re doing when it happens.

 

On the day Foggy moves into his new apartment, Matt’s there, helping Foggy move all his boxes and unpack. And then… Matt leaves, and Foggy’s alone in his own apartment for the first time ever. It’s so… _quiet_ and that unsettles him enough to stop being sleepy. He turns on the TV for some background noise and unpacks a few more boxes to be productive.

A few hours and four boxes later, he’s finally yawning and tired enough to head to bed, but he decides to unpack one more. At the bottom of this one, he pulls out the wedding stone and turns it over a few times, lost in thought. When he goes to bed, he places the stone on his bedside table, next to his wallet and the picture from the last Nelson Christmas ornament exchange. He and Matt are off to the side, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders and beaming. Matt’s head is turned a little, like he’s smiling at Foggy and not the camera and… well, Foggy goes to sleep with that memory fresh on his mind, feeling warm and happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Honestly, Foggy didn’t think he had the capacity to even mildly dislike Matt, let alone full on hate him. But that was before he saw Matt bleeding out on the floor and realized his best friend, his partner, still his fucking _husband_ , has been lying to him for years. Now, Matt’s lying unconscious on his couch, bandaged but still bloody and bruised and Foggy’s staring down at him, at the face he slept beside for seven fucking years, the face he _thought_ he could tell when lying. He snorts to himself, because well… obviously not.

Claire—who Foggy is sure is a perfectly lovely person but he doesn’t really have the capacity to be making new friends at the moment—leaves when she’s sure Matt isn’t going to die (and that Foggy won’t be killing him when he wakes up). “I don’t want to _kill_ him,” Foggy says, glaring at Matt’s bruised face. Claire scoffs, disbelievingly. “Okay,” he admits, “so I _do_ kind of want to kill him, but I’m not _going_ to.” He snorts. “The spouse is always the first one they suspect anyway, and I’m _not_ going to jail for him.”

“Spouse,” Claire says slowly. Foggy looks up and now she’s glaring at Matt too. God fucking dammit. Foggy’s _really_ not in the mood to defend Matt but Claire doesn’t deserve to feel shitty about whatever short lived relationship they’d had.

“Not… not like that.” Foggy sighs, and launches into the short version he's perfected over the years.

When he’s done, Claire’s eyebrows are at her hairline but she’s not glaring anymore. “Well that’s…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know _what_ that is, but it sounds like you two have a lot to talk about.” Foggy helps her pack up her stuff and listens to her instructions and promises to call if Matt takes a turn.

 

“Are you even really _blind?”_ Foggy asks and he hates himself for asking, and he hates Matt for making him ask. He’s spent years, guiding Matt, reading him assignments when a professor sent an inaccessible PDF or handouts, telling him exactly where everything is so he can feel comfortable in their rooms, letting him know whenever he moved anything, and all this time, Matt’s been lying about… about _everything_.

Matt rushes to explain, something about chemicals from his accident and the world suddenly being really, _really_ loud. And a… a world on fire. He talks about learning to fight from an old guy named, of all things, Stick, and he talks about the Mask and the good he’s doing, while also breaking the fucking law.

“Matt…” Foggy interrupts, a horrible, _horrible_ thought in his head. “Did you marry me so I couldn’t testify against you?”

Matt goes impossibly even paler as he shakes his head frantically. “No! _No_ , Foggy. I wasn’t—” he waves a hand to indicate vigilante, devil, fighting— “back then. I didn’t know I was going to be—” he waves his hand again— “ _this_. I swear. That had nothing to do with this.”

“Alright,” Foggy says, trying to keep himself calm enough to actually listen because he thinks he really _needs_ to listen to this. “Then tell me. When did you start doing this?”

Matt grimaces but after a few moments of pressing silence, he starts talking. “There was a girl…”

Foggy feels sick as Matt talks about listening to the girl cry, every day, about trying to go through the right channels, about finally, _finally_ taking matters into his own hands. Matt grins, angry and satisfied as he describes it, and Foggy… Foggy doesn’t know how he feels about that look, all bloody and feral, twisting his best friend's face into a stranger's. He does know how he feels when Matt tells him about his heartbeat, about knowing, every time he’s ever lied. He’s _angry_ , he’s _betrayed,_ he’s… he’s…

 

Foggy goes home. Foggy goes home because he thinks if he spends one more minute with Matt he’s going to do or say something he’ll regret later. Part of him truly _hates_ Matt right now but another, softer part of him is telling him he needs to be ready for them making up. He wants to hate Matt because he’s _angry_ , so so fucking angry but he knows he’s going to end up forgiving him. He’s been a goner for Matt since the first week (the first _day_ even with that stupid floppy hair and awkward handsome duck smile), and Foggy’d forgive him for pretty much anything.

But right now… Foggy’s just _angry._ He goes back to his apartment and throws his jacket at a kitchen chair. It misses and he grumbles as he stomps over and bends to pick it up. As he’s standing though, something on the center of the table catches his eye. His breath catches and he reaches out with trembling fingers.

The fucking _rock,_ the goddamn thing Foggy’s been obsessing over since they got it, is _cracked._

 

He brings it into work the next day, throws the goddamn fucking ring at Matt’s face who catches it easily because of the stupid secret senses. “Well at least I know you’re not lying about anything else,” he bites out.

Matt looks fucking _stricken_ , like he’s sick to his stomach, as he runs his fingers over the ring. It’s intricate, pieces of gold and silver woven together in an interesting pattern. It’s the most goddamn _perfect_ ring for both of them, pretty to look at for Foggy and pretty to feel for Matt. And on the inside, there’s even an engraving in braille. Normally, Foggy would ask Matt what it said, but right now he’s just so goddamn mad, he can’t even bring himself to care.

“Foggy,” Matt starts, sounding choked, but Foggy shakes his head sharply.

“No. Don’t. You know I fucking obsessed over that stupid rock for years Matt, _years._ We were supposed to be best friends, we got fucking married, even if it was for the housing and taxes, and I thought the rock would’ve broken that fucking night, Matt, because I told you all my secrets. I stood at that altar and bared my fucking soul to you and that Elvis impersonator, and I told the world and fucking God that I was hopelessly head over heels in love with my best friend.” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth falls open in surprise and Foggy says sharply, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. You can hear my heartbeat and smell when I’m lying or whatever. I’ve been in love with you for eight fucking years Matt. You _cannot_ tell me you didn’t know.”

Silence falls between them until Foggy grits out the command, “Say something.”

Matt shakes his head and he looks just  _miserable_ , sad, tired, injured, as he whispers, “What do you want me to say?” He looks right on the verge of fucking tears. “You said not to tell you I didn’t know, but I promised not to lie to you anymore, Foggy. _Which one do you want_?”

Foggy just shakes his head and walks out because he just _can’t_ anymore. As the door swings closed, he can hear Matt let out a strangled sob and his guts twist in sympathetic pain before he squashes that down. No, no, he needs to get away from Matt before he does something he really regrets.

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy can’t talk to Matt about anything other than work. He can’t or else he’ll start screaming or crying and he doesn’t know which would be worse. He comes in and does his work, and Karen is forced into an awkward mediator role without even knowing what happened. Foggy wants to tell her because she asks, all nervous and gentle, and tells him she’s always there for him to talk to, but it’s Matt’s fucking secret not his. Foggy sticks around till Fisk is caught (and re-caught and isn’t it a fucking relief to see Matt actually has some protection other than those black pajamas) and makes sure they have a solid case.

On Monday, he comes into the office, nods to Karen, and then heads into Matt’s office, shutting the door behind him. Matt blinks up at him, face carefully blank (Foggy hates this face most of all but it’s easier than Matt looking fucking wrecked every time they’re in the same room). “Foggy?”

Foggy sits in the chair next to Matt’s desk, takes a breath and squares his jaw. “I’m taking a vacation.” Matt’s blank face slips and it shows confusion, and sadness, and _fear._ “Don’t look like that Matt,” Foggy says, probably a little too harshly. “It’s not forever. I just… I just need some time away to clear my head, figure some things out.”

Matt nods and Foggy can see him swallow. “What—where are you going?”

Foggy shrugs and then nabs a pen from Matt’s desk to fiddle with. “I’m thinking I’ll go see Candace and the kids. Jason’s going to be doing some training program for a few weeks and she could use the extra hands. Also, I hear California’s nice this time of year.”

“So, when are you…?” Matt asks.

“Wednesday. I know it’s short notice but… well, I feel like if I wait, something _else_ huge is going to happen, and I’m never going to get any time to deal with all of… this.”

Matt nods pensively. “Okay, okay,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. “Take all the time you need, Foggy. Karen and I can hold down the fort.”

“I’ll just be one phone call or email away if you guys _do_ need help with anything.” Foggy stands up to leave, and then stops and turns back around to glare at Matt. “Don’t take on more than you can handle, okay? Call me.” Matt nods and Foggy narrows his eyes some more. “Promise Matt. Promise you’ll call if you need anything.”

It looks like Matt’s debating something in his head before he finally nods slowly. “I promise.” Foggy nods satisfied and heads out of the office to talk to Karen.

 

“How long are you going to be gone?” Karen asks over lunch. She and Foggy had gone out to a small cafe a few blocks away. Matt had begged off saying he’d brought his own lunch, which Foggy appreciates, but also, he knows Matt’s a dirty rotten liar and he’s already preparing to order a sandwich or two to go to bring back.

Foggy shrugs and munches on a fry. “A few weeks maybe? Sorry, I don’t mean to abandon you to all the paperwork but I just… need a break from everything.”

Karen sighs, shakes her head and shrugs all in one fluid motion. “It’s fine. You should definitely take some time for yourself.” She bites her lip and pokes at her salad for a second before she adds quieter, “I wish you guys would tell me what happened.”

Foggy’s heart clenches. “Karen…” he’s not sure what he was going to say but Karen cuts him off before he has to.

She shakes her head. “No, no. I know it’s something really personal for you guys. I’m your friend but you’ve got years of history, some things can’t really be explained to others, right?” She smiles at him, eyes soft and forgiving for not telling her.

Foggy nods. “I’d tell you if I could Karen, really, but yeah… thanks for understanding.”

Karen grins and changes the topic and they spend the rest of lunch chatting about unimportant things. Before they leave, Foggy orders Matt’s sandwiches and Karen smiles at him, soft and knowing. Foggy pretends he doesn’t see it.


	5. Chapter 5

A week into his stay at casa de la Nelson-Palmer and Foggy’s fallen into a comfortable routine.

He wakes up early when his niece jumps on his bed. He gets up, makes coffee for himself and breakfast for the kids. Candace comes out and he passes her a cup of coffee and a plate of food. Then he helps Emma and Jake get ready so Candace can have a moment of peace before getting ready and taking them to school on her way to work.

After that, Foggy takes his coffee and goes to sit on the back porch and reads the local paper. Then he, actually, honest to god, goes for a _run_ because it’s sunny but there’s a nice breeze and he feels rested and energetic. He takes a shower and then walks down a few blocks to a little cafe for lunch where he flirts harmlessly with the waitress and catches up on his emails on his phone.

He picks up the kids when they get out of school and he caves to their begging for treats. They head home and the kids do their little bit of homework and then they play for a while. They make pizza for dinner (the kids delight in sprinkling the cheese on and arranging the toppings in interesting shapes before it goes in the oven), and they’re ready to eat when Candace gets home. They have a nice family dinner and the kids play some more with Candace before it’s time for bed. Candace and Foggy read them their stories and tuck them in and then head out to the couch. They make popcorn, get out the wine, put on a movie or TV show, and talk a little bit. Candace doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough… like how Foggy’s been in love with Matt since forever, to be a sympathetic ear.

 

This night, after sending Candace to bed and doing the dishes, Foggy finds his way out to the back porch to think. He doesn’t know why—well he does but he doesn’t want to _say_ —but he brought the ring with him. He pulls it out then, when he’s alone, to turn it over and over in his fingers.

He’s thinking about Matt, thinking about how the ring represents them, twisted and stronger together, when his cellphone buzzes and flashes Matt's name. He debates for a second but then he answers anyway.

“Matt?”

“Hey Foggy.”

Foggy didn’t know how much he’d missed Matt’s voice till he heard it again. He kind of wants to laugh, kind of wants to cry, and settles for asking, “What’s up?” He frowns and checks his watch. “Wait, isn’t it like three a.m. there? Are you okay? You’re not being sewn back together by a long suffering and underappreciated nurse, are you?”

Matt snorts, an unmistakable embarrassing sound that Foggy’s only heard under very specific circumstance, and he thinks _oh_. Matt’s _drunk_.

“No, no, no Claire tonight. No Devil either. Me and Karen went out for drinks.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy asks, leaning back on his elbows, amused despite himself. “Did you tell Josie I said hi?”

“We didn’t go to Josie’s,” Matt says like it’s _obvious_. “Josie’s is ours.”

Foggy feels a little… touched actually. “Were you two celebrating or did you just decide to you wanted to get shitfaced?”

There’s a pause like Matt’s considering this _very_ seriously. “Yes,” he says finally and Foggy can’t help but laugh.

“So, celebration. Did you win a case?”

This is how Foggy ends up laying on the porch and listening to a rambling story about a case that they got thrown out before trial and the client who was so pleased and generous they covered basically _all_ of their expenses for the next few _months_. Foggy’s already heard all of this from Karen—she writes him emails during work hours with no shame and keeps him up to date on their caseload (not too much that she and Matt can’t handle it, and really at this point Karen could probably also be named partner) and lowkey on Matt’s well being which is… nice—but hearing a drunk Matt trying to remember and put the story in the correct order is frankly _hilarious_.

“While I’m glad to hear that we won’t be destitute anytime soon,” Foggy starts cautiously once Matt’s finished talking, “that could’ve waited. Why’d you really call me?”

Matt’s silent for a moment and then he mumbles something too low to be deciphered. Foggy just repeats the question and waits.

Finally, Matt mumbles, still a little low but clear enough, “It’s so _quiet_ without you.”

Foggy blinks. He… hadn’t been expecting that. “Um, what?”

Matt sighs, sounding frustrated. “You! You’re always here, always, with your heartbeat and laugh and voice and body and, and _everything_ and now you’re not and it’s… it’s… wrong. Unsteady. You’re supposed to be here Foggy, where I can hear you and know you’re okay... even when you’re mad…” He sighs again, weary and sad. “I miss you.”

Foggy’s quiet for a moment, thinking, before he asks quietly, “You had to get drunk before you could say you missed me?”

When Matt answers, he sounds very small and Foggy can just picture the pose he’s pulling, hunching in his shoulders, and ducking his head. “I don’t want you to be mad. You’re never mad at me when I’m drunk.”

“Matt… Matty, Matthew, listen to me very carefully okay? And maybe write this down somewhere because I want to make sure you remember in the morning.” There’s a sound like Matt’s rummaging for a pen and paper. “Okay, you ready?” Matt makes an affirmative noise. “I’m not mad that you called me and I’m not mad that you miss me. I miss you too. And… and if you want to call again tomorrow night, without being drunk… well, I won’t be mad about that either. Got that?”

Matt swallows and then says, voice thick like he’s trying to hold back tears (Matt always _was_ a weepy drunk), “Yeah. I. I… thank you Foggy.”

“I am still mad at you for the other stuff though,” Foggy warns, “so I won’t promise we won’t fight… but I _do_ want to talk to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Foggy checks his watch and decides it’s about time both of them go to bed He stands and pops his back with a groan before heading to the door. “Okay, well, I think I’m ready to turn in and you probably should too Murdock.”

Matt’s silent, the kind of silence that Foggy’s grown hyper aware of, the kind of silence that means Matt wants to say something, to ask for something, but he feels guilty about it. Foggy lets him stay silent till he makes it back to the spare room and closes the door. Then he sits on the bed and whispers, “Okay, what is it Matt?”

“Can I… you…” Matt’s whispering too even though he’s in his own house and it’s not like he has to. “Could you stay on the phone?”

“I’m not sure I’m up to talking all night…”

“No, not…” A _whoosh_ of released breath. “You can sleep but just… leave the phone on? So I can… so I can hear you?” Matt sounds hopeful, but there’s an edge like he’s resigned to Foggy saying no already.

Foggy surprises himself when he says, “Yeah I can do that.” Matt inhales sharply and Foggy asks, “So where would the best sound be? Just by my pillow?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be… Foggy… _thank you_.”

Foggy lays back, getting himself comfortable in the bed. “Shhh Murdock, you’re supposed to be going to sleep. Are you all tucked in?” Matt makes a humming affirmative sound and Foggy sets his phone down on the mattress and rolls on his side to face it. “Sweet dreams Matt.”

**Call ended 5:07:33**

 

After that, a new part gets added to his routine, nightly phone calls from Matt. They talk about a lot of things and it hurts sometimes knowing Matt had been lying to him all this time but he needs to know and he needs to get used to hearing about it. They don’t talk about Foggy’s own confession, for which he’s grateful. He’s lived with being one-sidedly in love with Matt for a long time and really nothing’s changed there.

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy probably should’ve taken more care to actually put the ring away. But he’d gotten distracted by a phone call from his mom and then chasing down Emma to put _her_ on the phone and he’d forgotten about it on his nightstand. When he goes back into his room, Jake is sitting on his bed and studying the ring.

“This is nice for Uncle Matt,” Jakes says with that sweet little kid smile. “Mama’s is engraved too, but he wouldn’t be able to read that, right?”

Foggy thinks that actually, Matt probably would be able to read an engraving but he says, “Yeah, it is nice.”

Jake nods and continues moving his finger over the Braille. "What does it say?" he asks, looking up at him curiously.

Foggy thinks about the first time he saw the ring, about noticing the Braille and being _so mad_ at Matt and stubbornly deciding not to translate it. Now, it feels kind of silly. After some time and space and late night talks, Foggy thinks he's ready to know what the universe wanted to tell them.

He sits next to Jake and takes the ring when he offers it. "Why don't we find out kid?"

-

“Matt’s looking better,” Karen mentions idly the next day. They’re facetiming as she’s walking home and he’s waiting for the kids’ reading club meeting to let out, walking a little around the park outside the library.

“Oh yeah?” Foggy asks, stopping to look at an art installment (a sculpture made by a second-grade class of what they think a dragon would look like; it’s horde is crayons and it’s utterly adorable).

“Yeah.” She pauses as she darts across the street. “He’s even wearing your ring. I’m glad you’re working things out.”

Foggy blinks at Karen, who’s looking away, across the street, as she walks. “Wait what?”

Karen looks back at him and tilts her head, looking worried. “The ring? It _is_ yours right? I’ve never seen either of you wear one so I kind of just assumed…”

“Twisted gold and silver?” Foggy asks, and Karen nods. “Yeah it is… I just… didn’t think he’d be wearing it…” he muses.

Karen hums. “Well, are _you_?”

Foggy glances down at his hand, guiltily. “Yeah well…”

They talk about other things till Karen has to go and Foggy wanders back to the entrance of the library, twisting the ring absently. He can feel the braille against his skin and he thinks that Matt must feel it even more than him, know it… and he’s _wearing it._


	6. Chapter 6

When Foggy gets back in New York, the first thing he sees is a live news report about Daredevil (and some other vigilante types but Foggy only has eyes for that red devil costume) fighting… crocodiles? The first thing he does is leave a voicemail for Matt _**(“Hey, if you’re not too injured from fighting mutant crocodiles—which what the fuck is up with THAT by the way—you can come over”)**_ then he heads home.

He wakes up with a start to a knock on the door. Foggy groans as he cracks his neck, _probably_ shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the couch, and shuffles over to the door rubbing his neck to try and get the crick out. Matt’s there and smiling tentatively at him when Foggy opens the door. He looks… normal and comfortable, in sneakers, sweatpants and a hoodie; his glasses off and his cane folded, fiddling with the strap… he looks… open and vulnerable. Foggy blinks at him for a second before he grins in return. “Huh, I was kind of expecting you to come in an 'alternate entrance'.”

Matt rolls his eyes and Foggy steps to the side for Matt to come through. Matt enters and walks in far enough to place his cane on the counter before turning back as Foggy closes the door. Without the cane though, he ends up tugging on the end of his sleeves. Foggy watches his fingers and notices he’s not wearing the ring (Foggy’s not wearing his either), but he can imagine him twisting it, fiddling with it when he’s anxious/nervous. He thinks of the way his ring slides around his finger, easy and smooth but he can also feel some of the raised dots when he presses it. He thinks Matt must feel every dot against his skin, a secret message he’d be aware of all day.

“Well,” Foggy says a moment later, spreading his arms out wide, “come here.”

Matt moves forward in a rush and in a split second, Foggy’s got his arms full of him. Matt’s buried his face in Foggy’s neck and Foggy gets the feeling he’s being sniffed and he’s glad he grabbed a shower before he ended up falling asleep. Foggy squeezes his arms as tight as he thinks he can without knowing whatever possible injuries Matt might be hiding under his hoodie and presses his face against Matt’s hair. “Foggy,” Matt murmurs, but he doesn’t follow it up with anything so Foggy just replies, “ _Matty_ ,” and keeps hugging him.

As much as Foggy wants to stand here all-night hugging Matt (Matt is warm and soft and safe in his arms), Matt was fighting _crocodiles_ just a little while ago, and he’s still exhausted from his trip back and holding Matt has made his brain go all sleepy again. “Matt,” he murmurs around a yawn, “come on, bedtime.” Foggy kind of untangles them but Matt persists in pressing against Foggy’s side. “You limpet,” Foggy says fondly. “Come on I can’t move your feet for you, unless you want me to pick you up.” Matt tilts his head and looks intrigued by the idea and Foggy rolls his eyes. “Unless you want to be dropped, I suggest walking.” Foggy starts moving and Matt sticks with him as he makes his way to the bedroom.

Once they cross the threshold, Matt seems to actually take notice of what’s happening because he does pull away a little (not much, his arms still around Foggy and their sides pressed together) and says, “I can… I can sleep on the couch…”

He doesn’t sound happy with that idea though, so Foggy just shrugs. “You can if you want… _or_ we share my nice big bed and you can continue to show off your impersonation of a mollusk.” Matt doesn’t try to move any farther so Foggy takes that as a vote for sharing the bed.

They have to detach as they crawl into bed (and Matt slips out of his shoes and hoodie), and Foggy groans as he spreads out. “Ahhh… _nirvana_.” Matt laughs and Foggy good-naturedly flips him off. Then he’s got arms full of Matt again as Matt lays half on top of him, head pressed to Foggy’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. Foggy cards his fingers through Matt’s hair gently till they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy wakes up in the morning alone in the bed, but the sheets are still warm beside him. When he listens, he can faintly hear the sound of somebody moving around in the kitchen. He stretches and settles back into a sitting position against his pillows, calling out softly, “Coffee?”

A moment later, Matt pushes open the door, holding two cups of coffee. “Lazy,” Matt chides as Foggy reaches out with an appreciative groan. Matt passes it to him, and then surprises Foggy by sliding back into bed next to him, brushing their shoulders against each other as he sips from his mug. Foggy grins into his own mug and lets himself relax and lean against Matt’s shoulder. They’re going to need to talk about… whatever this is but it can wait for a minute or, you know, till after coffee. His stomach rumbles and he amends that thought. Talking can wait till after _breakfast_.

 

Foggy doesn’t have any food in his apartment so they head down to the little diner on the next block to eat. Foggy, who hasn’t actually eaten since his layover yesterday— _oops_ —orders half of the breakfast menu. Matt laughs at him as he dives into his first stack of pancakes. Foggy eyes Matt’s plate full of disgusting, _healthy_ things: toast and fruit and egg whites, not even any _bacon_ , the heathen, and pushes his French toast plate over to him. “Come on Matt,” Foggy tempts, spearing one piece with his fork and waving it under Matt’s nose (Matt’s head actually follows it, and Foggy think if he pulled it away Matt would float out of his chair like a cartoon character). “I know you want it.”

Matt tilts his head slightly and his smile takes on a mischievous edge. Foggy has a split second to wonder about that before Matt’s leaning forward and tearing off a bite, all sharp teeth and red lips. Foggy doesn’t think he breathes at all as Matt chews and makes a frankly _sinful_ noise of appreciation. “Mmm,” Matt hums, sitting back in his chair looking satisfied and licking his smirking lips clean of syrup. “Hits the spot.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, a little strangled, eyes still drawn to where there’s a little smudge of whipped cream at the corner. Across the restaurant, a plate clatters to the ground and it jolts Foggy enough that he can move his eyes off Matt back to his own plate. “Have as much as you want.”

Matt hums again and when Foggy looks up, Matt’s looking at him with a curious little head tilt and an unreadable expression. Okay, yeah, they’re going to have a lot to talk about… _later_. “Hey hey hey!” Foggy pulls his pancakes closer to him, putting a protective arm around them. “No, the pancakes are off limits, Matt. You can have French toast and your ‘heart smart’ nonsense, no pancakes.” Matt laughs and it breaks the tension, so they can move onto other topics.

 

Foggy ends up letting it wait till after they’ve eaten lunch (takeout sitting on the floor at his coffee table, reminiscent of their college days). “You know,” he says finally, once the last of the Kung Pao chicken is eaten and they’re leaning back against his couch, “we’ve talked about a lot of things the last few weeks.” Matt kinds of stiffens beside him but he nods for Foggy to continue. “We’ve talked about your senses and your… nighttime activities… but… we haven’t talked about what I said the next day.”

“Do you… do you want to?” Matt asks quietly.

“Matt… you took a bite from my _fork_ earlier. I think maybe there’s something _you_ want to talk about.” Matt’s silent so Foggy nudges his shoulder and offers, “If you need a refresher, that was the day I told you I’d been in love with since forever, and you told me you didn’t know.”

Matt lets out a short laugh. “Yeah thanks but I do remember.” He dips his head down and fiddles with a chopstick, twisting it between his fingers absently (it’s an innocent little gesture, one probably millions of people do a day but Foggy’s suddenly struck with the knowledge that to Matt, the chopstick is something potentially lethal and just... _wow_ ). “I didn’t lie… I really didn’t know. If I’d known I’d have done something about it a long time ago…”

Foggy blinks at him. “You would have?”

Matt smiles, tight and bittersweet. “Yeah. But I know I missed whatever chance I might’ve had. I mean, I don’t even know how you could come back from hating me to even being my friend, let alone… let alone loving me.”

“You thought… you think I hate you so much I can no longer love you?”

Matt shrugs uncomfortably. “I don’t _blame_ you or anything. It makes sense. I mean, I lied to you for years; I don’t even deserve your friendship, let alone anything more. And I’m fine with that!” Matt insists with a forced smile and looking really not fine with it. “I’m not trying to push for anything else. I take your friendship as the truly wonderful gift it is and I don’t need anything more.”

“But you want it?” Foggy asks to be sure—he has to be sure.

The fake ‘I’m all right’ smile on Matt’s face slips, and he says quietly, “Yeah… I do.”

“Okay good,” Foggy says with a nod and then he’s leaning forward and sliding a hand across Matt’s jaw to tilt his head up. Matt blinks at him in surprise, mouth falling open in confusion. Foggy doesn’t try to move into a kiss, just holds Matt there with him, sharing a moment. “You idiot,” Foggy says fondly. “As if I could ever stop. ‘Makes no difference where I go or what I do. You know that I’ll always be loving you.’”

Matt’s eyes widen more, and he looks at Foggy in awe. “You, you—”

“Stopped being stubborn and translated the Braille? Yes, which by the way, I think the universe is making fun of us for getting married by an Elvis impersonator.” Matt huffs a little laugh but holds his breath when Foggy leans forward so that they’re foreheads are resting together. Matt’s trembling a little underneath him and Foggy’s pretty sure it’s from Feelings and not ‘wanting to get away.’ “Matt,” he whispers because it seems like a whispering type of moment. “Matty, my best friend, partner, love of my life, can I kiss you?”

Matt doesn’t bother replying, just makes a broken kind of noise and surges forward to kiss Foggy like his life depends on it. Foggy’s A-Okay with this situation, and he just moves his hand to curl around Matt’s neck and adjusts their angle as he kisses back. They have to pull apart eventually though for breathing, but Matt doesn’t even go far, just starts to press kisses to Foggy’s cheek, the curve of his jaw, the tip of his nose.

Foggy takes a moment to catch his own breath while Matt’s doing that (easier to say than to do), and then he smirks. “Ask and you shall receive, huh?” Then Matt’s laughing and Foggy’s laughing and everything’s _good_.

 

* * *

 

 

When they renew their vows, it’s in an actual church, stained glass windows and everything, with no Elvis impersonators in sight. That doesn’t stop Foggy from humming “Can’t Help Falling in Love” under his breath so only Matt can hear while Father Lantom is speaking. Matt rolls his eyes but doesn’t even try to hide his smile (Foggy was right, Matt does look like an angel up here, and _Foggy’s_ the one who’s making him happy). Foggy smiles back, the smile he’s been told many times over the years is dopey and love struck, but he wouldn’t stop even if he could.

When he kisses Matt, they’re still smiling, and he knows both of them will be remembering this in the morning.


	7. Fanmix!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cover and fanmix by cursinginenochian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Listen to the playlist on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/madisonj0204/playlist/2CT23HqRLzOTtfLOzaDx99)  
>     
> [Cursinginenochian's tumblr!](http://www.cursinginenochian.tumblr.com)

Tracklist:  
01\. it's now or never  
02\. are you lonesome tonight  
03\. a little less conversation  
04\. (you're the) devil in disguise  
05\. don't leave me now  
06\. is it so strange  
07\. i feel that i've known you forever  
08\. can't help falling in love

**Author's Note:**

> Wedding Rocks/Rings:  
> [Here's the original prompt post link](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/159417583792/all-newlyweds-are-given-a-rock-which-breaks-apart)
> 
> I didn’t want to spend a lot/any time in universe explaining the rocks/rings since they’re just the accepted/common practice in this universe (wouldn’t it be weird if you got married and then had an entire monologue on the history of wedding rings?), but that still left some confusion so I’m going to explain here. 
> 
> So how do the wedding rocks work? Short answer: Magic!
> 
> Longer answer: They were probably originally a piece of alien technology/culture that was introduced a long time ago. Basically, the couple goes to the chapel/city hall/wherever marriages are performed, and through some ~magical~ means, a specific individual rock is formed for them. It’s connected to them psychically so it knows when it should be opened, and the specific aspects of the rings (size/design/engraving/etc) are tailored to the individual couple for that moment.
> 
> If there’s any other questions, please message me on [tumblr](http://www.keepitdreamin.tumblr.com) and I’ll try and clarify!


End file.
